Addicted (A Billionaire Romance Novel)
Read Addicted (A Billionaire Romance Novel) Online
Authors: Aubrey Michelle
Addicted
A Billionaire Romance
Addicted
By Aubrey Michelle
Copyright 2015 Aubrey Michelle
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real people, places, or events is strictly coincidental. This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format without the permission of the author, with the exception of brief quotations used in reviewing the book.
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Table of Contents
Prologue
I would have to say that I hit rock bottom about a year ago. Nobody’s ever dealt the perfect hand, but mine was extraordinarily shitty. If you had told me 10 years ago that I would’ve gotten into the college of my dreams only to lose it all, I would’ve told you that you were crazy. I was always in charge of my life, but the shit poker hands I was dealt kept coming. It was like I was waiting to hit that royal flush on the river, but that river washed my hand right out from underneath me.
My mom and dad, Tommy and Cindy Morris, raised my two sisters and me. We were four years apart. Theresa was born in ’76, I was born in 1980 and Caroline in ’84. We were never the type of girls who played with dolls while helping our mom bake. No, we were the rowdy, rambunctious kids
who built a secret fort in the wooded area near our house and pretended that bad guys were trying to break in. My older sister, Theresa, would always guide us in our play; she had such a vivid imagination. Typically she and my little sister, Caroline, would hide in the secret fort while I played the villain. She always came up with the most creative ways to block off all the entrances to keep her and my little sister safe, while I ‘broke in’.
Since my parents were poor, most of our clothes were hand-me-downs or thrift store specials. I can still hear my mother’s voice, bragging about her deals of the day. “Oh, Tommy! Look what I got the girls today! The Thrifty Nifty had most of their fall clothes marked with orange stickers; I only paid thirty cents for each pair of blue jeans!” My sisters and I would scan each other’s faces with dread, hoping the jeans were for
each other instead of ourselves. But mom never left any of us out—we all got ‘new’ blue jeans that day. When we’d play in the woods near our house, in our secret fort, we’d rip up some of our old clothes and use them as bandanas to cover our face. It served two purposes really. Not only would we have something to play with, but maybe mom would buy us new clothes.
As we grew up, we would sneak boys into that very same fort. Since I was the middle child, my older—and more experienced—sister taught me how to sneak boys in and out of it without getting caught. I would later hand down those same secrets to my little sister. While I was in high school, my father landed a supervisory position within his company and worked his way up to general manager. Things were looking up for a change. Suddenly, there was more money to go around. Theresa no longer lived at home, which
meant mom would splurge and buy my little sister and me brand new clothes from the store. Everyone started to view me differently, which was great. The kids quit making fun of our clothes, I made new friends and my grades improved.
Theresa moved away right after she finished high school because she was pregnant. She and her boyfriend, now husband, were going to have a baby. Joe popped the question shortly after they found out she was expecting, and they were married before Dillon was born. Her life always seemed like that of a fairy tale. Girl meets boy, falls in love, has a baby, gets married and lives happily ever after. Okay, maybe that’s a little out of order but, for her, it worked. That was far from my story, though. I could only wish that my story was that simple or easy.
During my senior year of high school, I applied for college and was accepted! I’ll never forget the day that I opened the acceptance letter. Mom had checked the mail that afternoon and placed the letter on my bed. When I came home, I found it addressed to me, Audrey Morris, and began to tear the envelope open. My hands became clammy, my heart began to race and I could hear my pulse pounding in my ears. I’d only applied to two colleges and this letter, the one that was in my hands, was the one from my top choice—University of Missouri-Kansas City.
My mouth was dry and I had trouble swallowing as I held the folded letter in my hand. The only thing that separated me from knowing whether I was accepted or not was unfolding the paper. It took several moments for me to muster the courage to do such an easy task: unfold the crisp sheet of paper. Slowly, I unfolded the letter
but couldn’t bring my eyes to focus on the words. Panic and fear were getting the best of me. What if it wasn’t the response I’d been hoping for? What would I do then? Glancing down at the paper, I skimmed over the first few lines and my jaw dropped as I read “Congratulations”. I made it! I collapsed on my bed, hugging that folded piece of paper until I composed myself.
“Mom! Dad!” I shouted as I lunged out of the bed.
They looked at me with surprise as they watched me race through the kitchen since I wasn’t the type to quickly become excited.
“I got in! They accepted me!” I rejoiced as I hopped up and down.
“Who?” my mother asked.
“UMKC!” I shouted as I bounced up and down, hugging her arm.
“That’s great! Have you decided what you’ll study?”
“Yes, I was hoping to get into UMKC to Major in the Art History program.”
“That’ll be a good fit for you. Your dad and I are so proud of you!” she said as she hugged me.
I was on cloud nine for the rest of summer and during the beginning of the school year. All of my professors were wonderful, especially Professor Kausler; she was amazing. Her classes were always fun, and she showed an interest in each and every student. Not because she had to, but because she wanted to. She was friendly, funny
and made her classes exciting. And because of her, I almost stayed in school—almost.
During my freshman year in college, someone dropped flyers all over the hall for a frat party. One of my friends talked me into going, and I’m glad I did. During that party, I met this guy named Chad Wetzel. He was a frat brother with an extremely cocky, yet charming, personality. The music was thumping so hard that you could feel your loins vibrating with each song that played. There was plenty of booze going around, but back then I wasn’t the drinking type. Chad filled a red plastic cup from the keg and brought me a beer. I told him I didn’t drink, but he insisted that I have beer with him. “It’ll be fun,” he said. Though, I didn’t know much about him at that moment, he was right. The music was too loud to talk inside, so we headed to the backyard. Out on the back patio, he cleaned out a couple of folded lawn
chairs, where we sat talking, just getting to know each other. He was hilarious and definitely a ladies man. Chad knew all the right things to say. I was completely captivated by this handsome frat boy that I’d only known for a few hours. By the end of the night, we’d exchanged phone numbers and later, began casually dating for a brief time.
Chad and I were never an exclusive item; we were polar opposites, but we enjoyed each other’s company. Shortly after meeting him, I took a job working in the library that was on campus to help pay for some of my school. Mom and dad’s money only went so far, and they were supporting my little sister who still lived at home. Working at the library allowed me to meet Rob Lawrence. After a few casual dates with him, we became an exclusive item. We had quite a bit more in common than Chad and I. Dating Rob would change my life and alter its path forever, but of course, you can
never predict the future or foreshadow what might happen next. Our lives are nothing more than a chain of events that are connected by tiny dots. Those dots become milestones and turning points, and this was a turning point that I wish I could relive again; it was the best one in my life.
After dating for most of the year, I became pregnant with my son, Alex. Rob and I were thrilled to have a baby, but it also meant that I would have to drop out of college. There was no way that I could single handedly take care of an infant, work and attend college. Sure, Rob said he would help, but it only lasted so long. Not long after Alex was born, Rob said that he wanted to pursue his career in music in Washington. I was crushed. “How can you just walk away from our baby?” I asked him. His response was, “I have to put myself first.” After that, I never saw him again, though, he would write an occasional letter asking
how the baby and I were doing. I would always write back, including a picture of the baby, and give updates on new milestones he’d reached such as rolling over, talking and walking.
With Rob out of the picture, I focused all of my time and attention on my bundle of joy. Alex was beautiful and dazzling; any mother would be proud to have a son like him. My sisters, of course, went crazy over him and spoiled him any chance they got. I was happy living our own little life. The only regret that I had—and any mother will tell you this—is that I didn’t have enough time to spend with him. Working a full-time job is hard, especially when you’re a single mother. If I could go back in time, I would’ve quit that job to stay at home with my baby.
My entire world was turned upside down when Alex was just six years old. Life would never be the
same. It was his kindergarten year, and he’d made lots of friends in his class. He was outgoing, funny, smart and very cute. His short brown hair had a cowlick, on the right side, so I always had to comb it over to the left, following its natural part. Alex’s eyes matched his dad’s; they were a bright, sparkling emerald which complemented the tiny brown freckles that were sprinkled across the top of his nose. His teacher, Mrs. Hannakee, always bragged how polite he was and how much he participated in classroom discussion and activities.
I cannot tell you how much it hurt, the pain that I felt, the day he died. Tragic doesn’t even begin to describe the situation. The short time that he spent with me on this Earth has defined my outlook on things. I know you’ve heard the saying that life’s too short, and it truly is. You always take things for granted, such as your child laughing,
playing and cuddling you before bed. What I wouldn’t give to hug him one last time.
His death made headlines in the local newspaper. I gave his kindergarten photograph to the journalist who was covering his story and the dangers of leaving children to play outside, unsupervised. Alex was the glue that held me together, my pride and joy. We spent so many nights hanging out in front of the television watching his favorite cartoons while stuffing our faces with, his favorite, pizza. Every Friday when I got paid, we’d go to the grocery store to buy junk food for the night and we’d usually watch a funny movie or show together. He was my best friend, and when I lost him, a small part of me died with him. When I lost him, I seriously doubted that I could ever get close to another person. He was my everything, and soon, I began to close myself off to friends and family as my depression started to set
in. It was nothing personal; I just couldn’t allow myself to be in a close relationship—with anyone.